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Showing posts from December, 2018

Baby Cemetery

I live next to a cemetery and I like to walk the dogs there. Today I was looking at the baby section and I noticed there were two sets of twins. I cannot imagine the pain of parents who bury a child who lived one hour or one day, sometimes a couple of months or even a year. But to bury two at the same time must make a heart as heavy as it could ever be. I also noticed two tiny graves about a row apart  with exactly the same name. I went back and forth comparing. They were exact in every way, except that they were three years apart. I try to imagine those parents. Their loss, their hopefulness and then a second tragedy. Of course we don't know the rest of the story. I like to think that they went on to have healthy children. I saw this on a tombstone:   Jeremiah 29:11 I knew I wouldn't remember by the time I got home so I pulled out my phone to Look it up, "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, pl

Mary Christmas

<script async src="//pagead2.googlesyndication.com/pagead/js/adsbygoogle.js"></script> <script> (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({ google_ad_client: "ca-pub-2360701609150243", enable_page_level_ads: true }); </script> For many years I have pondered on Mary and her life. Could I sacrifice a child to save others?  Mary was a young woman brought up in a faithful Jewish home. She was betrothed to the older Joseph, a man already established in his business. Like many young girls I can picture her chattering to her mother about wedding plans, guests to invite, wine to serve.  Perhaps she was smitten with Joseph like a teen girl today might be.  Then, SOMETHING happened. When Joseph found out, he could have divorced her. A betrothal was a serious commitment and required an official dissolving. God had a different idea and sent an angel to Joseph in his sleep. Joseph was obedient and proceeded with

Fullness of Joy

<script async src="//pagead2.googlesyndication.com/pagead/js/adsbygoogle.js"></script> <script> (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({ google_ad_client: "ca-pub-2360701609150243", enable_page_level_ads: true }); </script> My brother Steve and I were talking the other day about how much we miss Mom. We had the same mother, and we didn't. She used to say we were both only children. I was born when my mother was 18 years old. My brother was born when she was 31. We were not raised by the same woman because of the time lapse.  I had a young playful mother, he had a mature responsible mother. He had more material things, I had hand drawn paper dolls.  I told him that I really wouldn't mind dying because I would see her and my grandmothers again. He gave me what I call the "Athiest Eye Roll." I told him that without the Hope of Heaven I could see no point to our lives here. He said the

Can You Hear Me Now?

<script async src="//pagead2.googlesyndication.com/pagead/js/adsbygoogle.js"></script> <script> (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({ google_ad_client: "ca-pub-2360701609150243", enable_page_level_ads: true }); </script> I have not posted in nearly a month. The busy holiday season gave me excuses for falling behind on prayer and study. (I have to get those batches of cookies done, the presents wrapped and so on.) Also, I do not choose what I write about. I sometimes have ideas but the Holy Spirit often does revisions or chooses something completely different. I was in a period of my life when I felt as if my prayers were falling into the dirt beneath my feet.  I couldn't feel God. It felt like I was knocking on the door where no one was home. I called the wisest woman I knew, my grandmother Mommy. (Georgia) She clucked her tongue the way she did when she was puzzling over a crossword problem.

Potty Training

<script async src="//pagead2.googlesyndication.com/pagead/js/adsbygoogle.js"></script> <script> (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({ google_ad_client: "ca-pub-2360701609150243", enable_page_level_ads: true }); </script> I have struggled with something you will find shocking.                             POTTY MOUTH It began in Junior High and I have no idea what started it. My poor mother never, ever, ever uttered such words.  Believe me, if raising me did not cause her to curse, I know nothing else would. Our front door was warped and at certain times of the year it required some extra pushing to get the swollen wood to close. One day I loudly commanded it to shut as I shoved on it. I was misunderstood and no matter how much I protested my previous record caused me to have to serve out my sentence of being grounded for the week. Fortunately it was not tennis season, or I might have broke out